


Coming Home

by RavioliRed



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Gen, M/M, a couple of very soft kids figuring out insecurities, am I capable of writing something that doesn't turn into heartwarming mush?, and then being closer for it, like hella soft, oh ALSO Too-Ticky is wonderful and wise and generally awesome, soft, survey's in and it says 'no'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 21:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavioliRed/pseuds/RavioliRed
Summary: It's the end of another summer, and Moomin starts to wonder why the adventurous Snufkin keeps coming back to boring old Moominvalley, while Snufkin keeps wondering why he's always welcomed back with open arms when he can't ever bring himself to stay.One day, they would have this figured out.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT'S UP I'M IN YET ANOTHER FANDOM AND I'M STILL FEELING TENDER
> 
> The idea for this one came after watching MAO's lovely animatic (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8_MlQ2KNWY). I watched it and FELT THINGS and then was like. Dang. I wanna make these kids happy. So now we're here! Enjoy :)

Neither Snufkin nor his Moomintroll had ever thought to ask, but if they had, they would have found that they shared a favorite season: summer.

The two were enjoying its bounty now, relaxing side-by-side under a tree and eating the sweet berries from a field they’d only explored that day. Moomin hummed happily, relishing the time with his best friend. His heart softened when Snufkin chuckled at a berry smeared across his snout.

He was just wishing, as he sometimes did during summers, that fall would never come when he saw a yellow leaf flutter down in front of him. Fall was a little way off, yet, but Moomin could still feel his smile become muted.

“Moomintroll?” Questioned Snufkin. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, surprised but warmed that he’d noticed. “Just that fall’s coming soon, and then you’ll have to leave.” He kicked the fallen leaf, trying to quash the sudden, childish urge to cry. Snufkin looked away, but nudged him gently with an elbow. 

“That may be so, but you’ll hibernate, and I’ll be back before you know it.” It was what he said every year, when fall loomed. It still didn’t help, but Moomin nodded anyways. It was silly, but whenever Snufkin was gone on his winter adventures, it was so easy to imagine him just… finding adventures that lead somewhere else. He was afraid to ask though. The only thing worse than Snufkin not coming back would be knowing that he truly didn’t care to, and Moomin didn’t think his heart could ever take that.

They turned to other conversation after that, but Moomin couldn’t help but feel that the air of the perfect summer evening was a little heavier than it used to be.

* * *

It rained that night, and the pattering was heavy enough to keep Snufkin up for a little while in his tent. He stared up at the canvas ceiling, frowning as his thoughts swam back to his conversation with Moomin earlier that day, and the sadness that had seemed to weigh on his friend afterward.

He wondered what kind of friend he was, making the ones he cared about suffer like that every year. _Not a very good one,_ he thought. He hugged his hat to his chest, wishing with all his heart that he could quash the need to wander that wormed under his skin, even now. 

It took him another two hours to fall into a fitful sleep.

Two weeks later, his bags were packed and he was delivering falsely chipper goodbyes to the Moomins, and then Little My hiding in the bushes where she tried to bite his ankles one last time, and Sniff, and finally a Hemulen collecting plant samples a little further down the path. The most important goodbyes, the hardest ones, he always made sure happened first, so that leaving became a little easier.

Snufkin tugged his hat brim down and focused on the path in front of him, letting the familiar magic of wandering take him where it would. Before long, Moominvalley was hidden far, far behind him. He never looked back, but the image of Moomin waving from his window presses behind his eyelids, still. He never felt so trapped by his need to be free as he did in these moments, in leaving.

* * *

Moomin rubbed his eyes and stretched drowsily, and then reached to look at his seasonal clock. He groaned when he saw that it was still winter; these past few years an interrupted hibernation seemed to be becoming the norm.

He puttered about, getting himself up for the day knowing that trying to fall back asleep right away would never work, and poked his head into the other’s rooms. He was disappointed to find that unlike other years, not even Little My was up. She might be obnoxious, but then at least he wouldn’t be so alone. He felt his heart sink, and wondered whether anything else could go wrong.

But then, he thought, Too-Ticky had sometimes come to stay at the bathhouse, in other winters. Maybe she would be there now.

So Moomin braced himself for the cold, cracked open his window (knowing from previous years that the snow likely blocked the front door downstairs), and slid carefully down to the ground. He felt his fur fluff up into its winter coat, but there was still an unfriendly bite to the air. Moomin wished that he’d brought a blanket.

The sky was clear on the way to the bathhouse, but he couldn’t see anyone up and about; he supposed they were all still sleeping, like he wished he was. He knocked on the door and called Too-Ticky’s name.

“Yes?” came a familiar voice, and Moomin sagged with relief. Too-ticky ushered him in and offered some warm fish soup she’d just made.

Once he’d finished his portion and thanked her for the meal, she sat back in her chair and leveled a look at him. “So Moomintroll, what brings you out here in the middle of the winter?” At Moomin’s dropped, glum stare, she quickly added, level-toned as ever, “You don’t have to tell me, of course. It’s only that you seemed a little like you wanted to talk about it.”

Moomin sighed. “Oh, it’s just that I’ve been waking up during the winter more and more recently. And this is the first time no one else woke up, too, and the house was just too lonely to bear.”

Too-Ticky’s eyes softened in understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that, Moomintroll. You’re always welcome here, of course.” 

Moomin perked up. “Really?”

Too-Ticky laughed. “Well, technically, this bath-house belongs to your family anyways, so I would say so!”

They chuckled good-naturedly together, and then lapsed into a comfortable silence. Moomin wondered at Too-Ticky’s ability to always put others at ease, and thanked her again.

But thinking of comfortable silence made him think of Snufkin, and Moomin tried not to droop again. Snufkin was probably off having wonderful adventures somewhere to the south, somewhere warmer than Moominvalley. He probably hadn’t had reason to think of Moomin since he’d left, what with all of the new discoveries on his travels. Moomin felt the warmth under his skin from the meal and from Too-Ticky’s presence suddenly dissipate.

“Too-Ticky?” He asked, hesitant. 

“Yes?” She looked at him with equal parts curiosity and gentleness.

“Do you think...” He stared into a corner, unable to meet her eyes. “Do you think, that if someone travels a lot, and loves seeing new things and places more than anything, do you think that person would ever just. Stop coming back to a place?”

When he glanced up for an instant, he saw a knowing glint in Too-Ticky’s eyes, and blushed. “Well,” she said, “I know a traveller or two. And usually, if a traveller keeps coming back to a place, or to a person, there’s a reason for it.”

Forgetting about his bid for anonymity, Moomin added in a mutter, “Even if I’m just the same old Moomin?”

Too-Ticky smiled. “I think, maybe, _because_ you’re the same old Moomin. When one travels a lot, sometimes it’s nice to have a place, or a person, to call home.”

Moomin looked up at her with bright eyes. “I hadn’t thought about it that way before! You really think he thinks of me— or I mean, Moominvalley, as home?”

“Well, my dear Moomin, that’s something I think you should ask him yourself, when you see him next.”

* * *

Spring was coming. Snufkin could feel it in the breeze, and could see it in how fast the ice was melting off of the trees. A small vice seemed to squeeze his chest, as it did every year around this time. It was time to start composing his new Spring Tune, so that when he came back to Moominvalley, he could watch Moomin’s face light up at the sound of his mouth-organ when the notes came out just right.

He wanted it to be perfect. 

It had to encapsulate everything: the joy of travel, the magic of the turning seasons, the bliss of returning, and the apology for his being gone so long when he knew it hurt, even if he couldn’t be any other way. 

And the thing is that he _knew_. He _ached_ with the weight of the knowledge. Even as his feet brought him ever closer to Moominvalley, his thoughts cast back to the last little town he’d visited, when he’d been craving something sweet to eat while his favorite berries were all out of season. 

It had been full of families, full of bouncing energy and loud, loud laughter, just like the Moomins sometimes were on a particularly nice day. It was lovely, and he still wanted no part of it. He _wished_ it was something he could make himself want. He knew it was the sort of future that Moomin would one day exist in, bringing a family that stuck together for a treat in town every so often. It wasn’t something he could ever be a part of, as much as he wanted to. His wandering feet would never let him, and every year, when he saw the joy on his Moomintroll’s face as he returned and his sorrow upon his leaving, he felt the weight of guilt, knowing that Moomin deserved more, better from him. Or would just be better off picking someone a little bit better suited for his future. Snufkin knows he only really returns to Moominvalley out of selfishness.

He shook himself out of his reverie, and focused once more on the path in front of him. Going back to Moominvalley always did put him in such a strange mood. But, he decided, as much as he might feel undeserving of the Moomin’s time, the least he could do was provide a lovely tune.

Even after he stopped for the night, he let the melodies of the night swim through his head, inspiration and ideas for his gift. He hoped Moomin would like it.

* * *

On the first day of spring, as always, Moomin had packed a lunch to wait on the bridge where they always meet. Waiting for Snufkin is the thing of utmost importance, the single most important event, this season. Or well, second most important, right behind Snufkin’s actual arrival.

He was lucky, this year, and didn't have long to wait. It was hardly past lunchtime when he heard the first birds carrying a new tune on the wind, and Moomin knew what that meant.

“Snufkin!” he shouted, jumping up. He couldn't yet see his friend, but it would only be a matter of minutes now; needing something to do, Moomin scuttled to his side of the bridge and started gathering snowdrops in his arms. He loved surprising Snufkin, and while not even a dragon seemed to have done the trick, he couldn’t ever recall giving him flowers, either. Then he got an even better idea, and started bending and folding the flowers into shape. Wait till Snufkin saw this!

“What’s that you’re making, Moomin?” came a soft voice, and Moomin jumped, whirling around.

“Snufkin!” he cried, flowers temporarily forgotten as he grinned at his friend.

Snufkin smiled somewhere between shyly and slyly, settled into his stance, and returned his greeting with his traditional coolness. Moomin coughed and echoed him, as he always did. He always felt just a bit put-out by his friend’s affect until he saw Snufkin’s smile, and he thought again of Too-Ticky’s words about _home_.

“So,” Snufkin asked, “what _are_ you making there?”

And if Moomin felt warm before, now his face was burning. It seemed a little strange now. “Oh, this? It’s just a flower crown I made while I was wai— I mean while I was outside enjoying some fresh air.” He didn’t know why, but he felt like Snufkin didn’t like the idea of someone waiting for him. And indeed, he saw his friend’s face fall at his slip-up. Quickly, he held out the flower crown for its original purpose. “You can have it, if you want. It would fit on your hat, even!” 

And then Snufkin did smile, and carefully laid the ring of snowdrops in place. “Thank you,” he said. 

The afternoon passed quickly after that. Snufkin asked him what he thought of the Spring Tune this year (silly question: he would love any sound that heralded the return of his best friend), and then they went looking for more flowers further downstream. Little My hadn’t even found them until later, though by dinnertime they had Sniff and Snorkmaiden for company, too, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. 

All in all, a good day: a great one, even. But when Moomin went to bed that night, shuffling under the covers after one last look out at the light of Snufkin’s campfire, he couldn’t stop thinking about Too-Ticky’s advice about Snufkin and coming home. _If_ Snufkin thought of this place as home. _I think you should ask him yourself, when you see him next._ But how could he do that? Snufkin was always something of a private soul, and he wanted him to feel comfortable. But how could he ever find out if he didn’t ask?

* * *

After a few days of gentle prodding and leading conversations came to nothing, Moomin decided that he would just have to say it.

They were sitting on the bridge now, enjoying the afternoon sun and the exchanging of stories. Snufkin had just finished describing a new kind of sweet treat he’d tried, and a moment of companionable silence followed. A leaf swirled by in the wind.

“Snufkin?” he asked, and he hated how his voice came out so small.

“Hm?” His friend shot him a concerned look.

“Does it ever bother you, that you get to see and learn so much on your adventures, only to come back here to see that nothing’s changed?” _That _I_ haven’t changed?_

Snufkin was silent, a look of concentration passing over his face as he cast his line out again. Moomin had to sit on his paws to stop fidgeting.

He was about to apologize for asking and run back to the house in tears when his friend began speaking.

“I— no. I’ve never been bothered by that, Moomin. You’d be surprised, how much one can learn by coming back to the same place, every year. You might not notice, but there are differences.”

“Really? Like what?” Moomin leaned forward, tears forgotten for the moment.

“Well, have we ever had the same adventure twice?”

Moomin paused in thought, and then shook his head with wide eyes.

Snufkin smiled, and reeled in a minnow. Deftly, he unhooked it and allowed it to slip back into the water. “No,” he said. “You always find new things to show me. Not,” he continued quickly at the fear that must have shown on Moomin’s face, “that I would stop coming back, if you ran out of things to show me,” and Moomin nearly sagged in relief. “I think visiting an old friend is more than reason enough to return, don’t you?” and they both smiled at that.

Instead of tossing his line back out though, Snufkin lay his rod aside along with his hat, and shuffled his knees up to his chin, looking oddly vulnerable. 

“And you, Moomin,” he looked away. “Does it bother you that your vagabond can’t settle for even a year?”

Moomin tried to emanate all of the warmth of a good Moominmamma hug. “I may always be sad when you go away, Snuf, but I know that you have to go.” He looked down at his paws, embarrassed. “I just sometimes get scared that you’ll forget about me, and not come back.”

Then there was a warm weight against his side, and Moomin looked up to see Snufkin leaning against him, cheeks flushed.

“I won’t forget,” he said. “Not ever.”

And Moomin buried his face in Snufkin’s hair, reveling in the smell of flowers that seemed to stick to the heather-brown strands. He noticed the flower-crown of snowdrops still sitting on his hat, and he closed his eyes, heart suddenly too big, too much. “Just promise me you’ll always come home, no matter how far you wander,” he asked quietly.

He felt a gentle pressure against his cheek, just before Snufkin pulled back to look him in the eye with a soft smile. “I promise,” he said, “that I’ll always come home. To you.”

They sat squished together for a while after that, until all of the closeness got to be a bit much for Snufkin. Then they said their goodbyes for the day, with Moomin walking back up to the house, and Snufkin heading for his tent.

Today was over, they both knew, but they would have many more days by each other’s side, this summer and the next, and the next, and the one after, and after, and after, for the rest of their years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm raviolired on tumblr too, feel free to pop over and say hi!


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